


Breakfast

by elsewherewolf



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic Bliss, Father/Son Incest, Fingering, M/M, Rimming, there is no saving me now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsewherewolf/pseuds/elsewherewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc comes back from walking Max to find Chuck making breakfast.  In nothing but an apron.  It's obvious what Chuck wants, and Herc's only too happy to give it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast

Herc breathes in salt air, letting Max wander alongside at his own pace. Untouched, the beach stretches out ahead and behind, nothing but sand like diamonds and endless sky. It's worth it, he thinks. The years he spent putting his own life, his _son's_ life on the line - it's worth it. To emerge heroes, wanting for nothing, able to afford this prime piece of real estate in an area unspoilt by the Kaiju, it's worth every physical and emotional scar, every nightmare, every strike recorded forever on the drivesuits now housed in some faraway museum.

To his right there's the Pacific, frothy but strangely silent. To his left, a bank of sand and brush sticking up here and there, and at the top of one of the banks, the house he shares with Chuck. "Come on, boy," he calls to Max, eager to get back now that he can see their deck, the sight of the loungers outside making him think of last night. He and Chuck had shared a six pack, watching the sun go down over the ocean, enjoyed the fact that nobody needed them to be anywhere and kissed until going to bed was the only option left. It had been a good night.

He still worries sometimes that one day he's going to wake up to see Chuck heading out the door, that suddenly it'll all be too much to handle and Herc won't blame him if he does. It isn't right by any normal standard, but Chuck doesn't seem to care yet, and that's good enough for Herc.

Max runs up the path ahead of Herc, announcing their return with a few excited barks, and Herc just laughs, starting to say something about being totally unable to sneak up on anyone, but the sight that greets him in the kitchen makes his laughter stutter out.

Chuck straightens up, a challenge in his eyes as he tells Max to go get a drink. He's wearing one of those trashy aprons that just says 'KISS THE COOK' on it, and - as far as Herc can tell - nothing else. "I'm making breakfast. You want eggs?"

"Sure," Herc replies, watching Chuck turn back to the stove and yeah. Definitely just wearing the apron, and making it bloody obvious what he wants.

"What's it like out there?"

"Good day for surfing," Herc says, leaning back against the nearest counter to watch his son. Mornings don't get any better than this, he thinks.

"Means it's a good day for the bike, too."

Herc nods, for some reason that suggestion making his spine prickle with anticipation. "We can do both." He pushes away from the counter, reaching to loop his arm around Chuck's waist, ignoring the startled protest to press his mouth to Chuck's neck. "If there's time, we can do both."

"You want me to burn your breakfast, dad?"

"Turn it off then," Herc growls, his teeth around Chuck's scruff, his hand slipping beneath the apron to skim over Chuck's left nipple and that, oh _that_ gets a response, Chuck's naked arse pressing back against him, his head falling back against Herc's shoulder. "Heat off?" Herc asks, biting and kissing Chuck's throat.

"Yeah."

"Come on then." Herc hauls him away from the stove, rock hard inside his khakis and raking at Chuck's skin, and he's aware of Chuck's hand on his hip, squeezing.

He bends Chuck over the kitchen table, smoothes his hand down Chuck's spine, and pulls out a chair to sit on because he'll be damned if he's going down on his knees for this. "Get up there," he says, waiting until Chuck takes the hint and climbs up on the table, knees bent under him and his head resting on a placemat. 

"Don't know what's got into you, but fuck..." Chuck doesn't finish his thought, unless the groan that comes out of his mouth next was supposed to be words. Herc buries his tongue, breathes out slow just to hear the sound of plea Chuck makes.

He strokes the inside of Chuck's thigh, brushes his knuckles over Chuck's cock, his sac, and grins at how noisy Chuck is and how easy it is to undo him. That he can do it whenever the urge takes him, because there's nobody around for miles to give a damn. Chuck's stuttering, his knees shaking beneath him when Herc leans back, replaces his tongue with a wet finger, teasing and pressing at the ring of muscle that's his and his alone to breach. 

"So good, Chuck. C'mon, relax. Let me in, that's it. That's it."

Past the first knuckle, and Chuck's whining something almost unintelligible, but Herc knows his son, he knows what Chuck wants most. Even so, he drags it out, slow to bury his finger deep, slow to move it again, loosen Chuck up enough to press a second finger in alongside the first. Chuck's leaning on one hand, pulling at his thigh with the other, giving Herc as much room as he wants and showing off his gorgeous arse to the fullest. 

"Hurry up," Chuck grunts, trying to look back at him. Herc twists his fingers, hard, just because he can and he knows Chuck likes it like this as much as any other way.

"I don't have anywhere else to be, do you?" 

Chuck mutters something under his breath, fucking himself on Herc's fingers until Herc relents, scrapes his chair back and stands, easing his fingers free and patting Chuck's back. "Don't fuckin' move."

"Don't be bloody long then."

Herc isn't. He's back in moments, pants off his hips and a condom between his fingers, moving to stand behind Chuck again. 

"What's the delay?" Chuck grumbles, looking over his shoulder, but Herc's ready now, slick and sheathed and he grabs Chuck's hip, positions himself and sinks in, maybe a little too fast from Chuck's surprised cry, but he's there and it's tight like always and so, so good.

It doesn't take Chuck long at all, not when Herc takes hold of his cock and starts jerking him, thumb under the head, fingers rough and heavy on him. Herc keeps fucking him after he comes, like he's got something to prove. Mostly he's thinking about Chuck in or half out of his wetsuit, or how his body looks encased in leather, how it looks now, under him. Shifting muscles, sweat shiny on his back, those stupid apron strings almost undone, Chuck's hair sticking up everywhere because Herc's hands found their way into it more than once. His hips stutter and jerk, and he comes with his fingers pressing deep into Chuck's hips.

Chuck kneels up, leaning back against Herc, breathing hard and hot as he grabs Herc's hand, lifts it to his mouth.

They say nothing for a while, just enjoying skin to skin and the musk in the air.

Chuck eventually gets down from the table, still a little unsteady, and takes a quick kiss from Herc on his way by. "Good morning, Dad. By the way." He grins, turning the stove back on, and Herc just watches, feeling dishevelled and sweaty and weirdly debauched, like he was the one getting fucked on the kitchen table. 

"You're an arsehole," Herc concludes, fondly.

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt on pacificrimkink. again. :)


End file.
